


Cobalt Marksman

by chucklingChemist



Series: Alternian Snapshots [7]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Discussion of the Hemospectrum, Gen, Minor Violence, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 19:32:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucklingChemist/pseuds/chucklingChemist
Summary: They say cobaltbloods are effective. They say their part of the noble elite, but only if they conform to a specific standard and present a specific way. They talk about how good cobalts uphold the system, while bad ones revel in chaos and destruction. They say cobaltbloods are dangerous.You aren't sure what to make of that. But you're going to figure it out soon.





	Cobalt Marksman

**Author's Note:**

> This one is admittedly weird to place timeline-wise since, being a short vignette, it starts long before "A Rise to Power" but ends after "Teaching". Not that you have to read either of those to understand this one, but if you're interested for anything else involving Aracae, those are a good place to start.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

“You would a good archeradicator.”

The first time Aracae heard those words, she was barely out of the caverns playing with the bow she was given. She wasn’t on target, not perfectly, but for a bow so big for her body, such a smooth shot without the slightest waver in her arms as she drew back the string indicated finessee. She clung to these words, these silken words spoken by higher caste peers in awe of her skill, and lived off them. Cobaltbloods like herself, royalty or not, didn’t sit neatly in a bubble of the middle-class, skill-job midbloods or the silvers and golds of highbloods. You had to climb up, or fall down. And either way, you were probably resented.

With those words alongside the encouraging claps on the back, she chose to climb.

“You would make a good archeradicator.”

She lived off those words for the next few sweeps, never living. Always training. Hunting. Raising her skill. Cobaltbloods had to make a name for themselves somehow, through art, defection, military prowess or sheer terror. They were known for being either obsessive or chaotic. Sometimes both. But being an archeradicator was none of those things. Archeradicators were positions set up and sought by indigobloods for their noble and honorable job.

Aracae wasn’t dangerous. More importantly, she didn’t want to be seen as dangerous. She could quickly shoot perfectly in a headwind, riding hysterically on an antlerbeast and blindfolded, sure, but she wasn’t dangerous. She was just a kid. She never turned her skill on another troll, only on deadly lusii threatening her. What harm could she really do?

“You would make a good archeradicator.”

Except archeradicators don’t pause when their superior tells you to cull a disobedient lowblood. Archeradicators aren’t supposed to question who they cull, they just do. They’re executioners. That’s it.

Certainly, they never refuse an order the way she did.

And when an indigoblood - someone she thought was a friend - told her to cull the rustblood that dared mock her, told her a _good_ archeradicator would never hesitate at the draw. _Good_ archeradicators don’t choose who’s lawful, they merely carry it out. And of course, the obnoxious indigoblood would know more than Aracae ever would, because her whole ancestral line were archeradicators. She was a natural fit for the job.

But Aracae couldn’t shoot the kid. The rustblood was just a kid too. She had every right to make mistakes as the indigoblood or Aracae did. And anyway, they were just _words_. It wasn’t going to do anything in the long run. She heard purplebloods throw nasty words her direction and she’s fine. What could this rustblood do?

The indigoblood fumed. She called Aracae all sorts of slurs, called her useless, called her good for nothing, but none of it mattered. Aracae’s pride was in her own conduct. Her distinct lack of chaotic or sinister energy. The way a tantruming indigoblood saw her, friend or not, meant nothing.

Eventually, the indigoblood realized this. Or maybe she continued to act rashly, Aracae couldn’t say. She hastily jumped at the rustblood with her claymore, but Aracae shot her in the back of the knee before she had a chance to finish. Then again, this time on the other leg. She wasn’t going to kill, but she didn’t have to. Even an indigoblood struggles to move without legs.

She tried to approach the rustblood after that, but the small troll ran off during the commotion. Not that Aracae could blame her. Any troll who so callously turns on their friend, especially a _highblood_ , is perceived as dangerous.

If that’s what dangerous meant though, maybe Aracae was dangerous. Being dangerous was better than being asleep in a four wheeled device driven by wigglers with hair-trigger tempers expecting her to take their thinly-veiled insults better than they ever could.

“You would make a good archeradicator.”

In her sixth sweep, she grew to resent the words. With each perigee, she watched as the same highbloods who praised her shunned and threatened her. Those who sided with her were given the same treatment. A few even tried to attack her, but never got far. Not when she trained for so long, not when they relied on their sheer intimidation factor and bulk to scare her and floundered when it failed them.

Word spread how she was like the other cobalts. She was dangerous. Not the way highbloods generally were either, with the unchecked aggression that she could only watch as they turned it on lower castes, or the way they spoke of murder over lunch the way others might the weather. They were dangerous. Not _dangerous_ the way she was.

Aracae leaned she might rather like what being dangerous actually meant.

She learned to climb trees wholly to take enjoyment in watching the same indigobloods “destined” to become archeradicators fail to draw the bowstring without breaking the wooden limbs on their practice weapons. They would still grow up to become threshecutioners, or perhaps ruffiannihilators if their strength was high enough (an indigoblood could never truly fail their seventh sweep ordeal the way midbloods could), but Aracae’s whole being filled with glee as the same trolls who did nothing but talk up their natural talent failed to display even _that_.

They would still get highly valued positions, but she could forever take smug satisfaction that if she tried, she could have beat them.

Eventually, she ran into the same rustblood. She can’t remember when, but she did. The poor thing was battered, bruised and broken. Sopor alone would never fix it, and Aracae lacked a medicalizer. So instead she enlisted the help of one of her remaining friends and patched her right up. She struggled performing basic tasks for a while, but with some time resting in Aracae’s manor, she did heal. And she wanted to learn how to defend herself.

“You would make a good archeradicator.”

But she made a better teacher.

It was hard, yes, but the reward was far greater. Aracae never liked the concept of culling defenseless trolls, and being an archeradicator had nothing to do her increasing love of the Hunt. But she learned just how far her patience went, learned how to conduct herself properly. Leaned how to balance being dangerous and being soft. When to push forward and when to pull back. And the reward, watching someone improve the way she did when she was small, was the only vindication she ever needed.

Unlike her skill with a bow, this wasn’t natural. This took practice. She failed more times than she could count. It was a learning experience not just for the rustblood, but for Aracae as well. Never before had she needed to know things like gentleness or restraint. She wasn’t a jadeblood, almost always raised in the brooding caverns to learn such. But here? Teaching a terrified rustblood? It was an impossible trait to ignore.

But she could never be a teacher. Jadebloods and only jadebloods - those unfit for cavern life, but still capable of being around kids, just not wigglers - became teachers en masse. And seadwellers could teach other seadwellers. But a cobaltblood moving so far downward?

They would sooner make her a defecting archeradicator.

“You would make a good archeradicator.”

She never made it to her Seventh Sweep Ordeal. She, alongside the rustblood and her lusus ran far away. They found a new home on another continent, living in tents and even eloping once. But life had different plans for them. The rustblood decided to join in on the continent’s once glorious piracy industry and make a name for herself. But Aracae didn’t want to do that. She wanted to be a teacher.

She used her remaining resources to build a new, modest hive in the dense forests. She hunted alongside her lusus and sold the pelts in nearby villages and cities. She offered trolls looking for an escape from whatever they wished - the cult purplebloods called a church, the ill-fated destiny of goldbloods with bifurcation, highbloods and lowbloods wanting something different than what their caste told them - in exchange for following her code of honor. To swear off the senseless murder and flagrant hyper-violent reactions they were taught.

She taught herself how to shoot a rifle only shortly before she taught her Hunters, dismayed at how quickly she picked it up until she remembered Alternia wasn’t in charge of her skill. She was.

“You would have made a good archeradicator.”

The words are spoken by her future oliveblooded kismesis - or whatever they were - by accident, back when they first met. He was a young cavalreaper ready to die for defending Alternia, back when he still believed Alternia needed a defense. She bristled at the words, naming him all the other triumphs she’s had - positions unique to her. Achievements more fulfilling than executing the damned. She’s a leader, a hunter and a teacher. A safe haven for those with nowhere to go. A blight of honor and true nobility to those who raged at imaginary slights. She took charge of a dying pirate port and helped put it back on the track for glory. She was more than her skill.

He would never credit her for defecting as impressively as he did. He amounted it to his insistence he only fight defensively, and the Empire’s lust for bloody conquest. She did and still does believe him. He wasn’t much the type to make himself look better if it was untrue. The bastard had too much honor for that.

A trait both of them shared. A trait the Empire found disgusting.

“You would have made a good archeradicator.”

The words tumbled out of Aracae’s mouth before she can stop them. It was in reference to her most recent pupil, a young brownblood her kismesis found half dead in a tree some sweeps ago. She met Aracae scared and angry. Now, merely two sweeps later, she stood tall and proud in the chilly air of her seventh sweep. She looked confused, eyebrows quirked to give her face a quizzical expression. “If you were my caste, they would have loved for you to be an archeradicator. But honestly? It’s not worth it.” She smiled warmly. “Far as the drones know, you’re dead. Do with that info as you wish.”

The brownblood expression turned into an amused smirk. She told Aracae she wouldn’t dream of it. Working for the empire doesn’t bring nearly the thrill abandoned ruins did. Not to mention, as a brownblood she would never even get the chance to achieve the noble and esteemed echelons of military work. Brownbloods generally got reduced to menial guard, janitorial and stocking positions. If she were lucky and interested, her ability with a bow might get her as a cavalreaper. And while the girl was certainly lucky (despite her insistence to the contrary), she was most definitely not interested.

The pride that seeped through Aracae’s expression though as she talked couldn’t be helped. She would never be an archeradicator. She was 1000 things better. And that’s all she needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to leave kudos/comment if you enjoyed it! Also if you want to listen to me ramble about absolutely nothing, you can find me on [Tumblr](chuckling-chemist.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stormscourge)!


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